


Queen in Japan

by flammable_grimm_pitch



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe - Bands, Classic Rock, F/M, Fluff, Japan, Queen fanfic, Queen in Japan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammable_grimm_pitch/pseuds/flammable_grimm_pitch
Summary: As a professional photographer, you've been given the opportunity to join Queen on their 1975 tour of Japan. While vying for the position of Queen's official photographer, you find yourself caught up in something more than friendship with bassist John Deacon.





	1. The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> I have taken creative liberties with timelines and locations in this story, but have loosely based it upon the 2-week tour 1975 tour Queen did in Japan. 
> 
> Because I have never been to Japan, and have very limited understanding of Japanese culture and cuisine, I did do a significant amount of research in an attempt to make my story realistic. Please forgive any errors or inaccuracies - I truly do try my best!
> 
> Also, my understanding of photography (both digital and whatever you call the stuff before that) is shaky at best, so let's hope y'all understand what I'm getting at!

The shutter of your camera snapped again and again, drawing the gaze of curious onlookers as you trailed along the path after the group of four walking ahead of you. You felt a nervous flutter in your chest; the whole point of being a photographer was that you were supposed to be behind-the-scenes, but here were dozens of people watching you work. Really, though, it was probably your subjects who were turning heads: four handsome young rock stars, members of the latest hit-band, Queen.

“Are we going too fast, Y/N, darling?” The frontman of the band, Freddie, called over his shoulder. “Brian’s legs are so long, it’s rather difficult to all walk at the same pace.” You flashed him a thumbs-up and waved them on; your instructions had been for them to act natural, and just continue about their plans for the day, whether that was attending a cultural event, hitting a hole-in-the-wall restaurant for a quick bowl of miso soup, or performing onstage for thousands of cheering fans. So far, they were proving to be excellent clients. 

“We’re going to stop at that pond over there, if that’s alright,” Freddie announced. “Brian wants to see the koi fish, and Roger needs to have a bit of a rest. He went a bit far with the sake last night at dinner, if you recall, and all this lovely sunlight is hurting his head, apparently.” The drummer, whose blond hair was somehow both messy and artfully arranged, smacked his bandmate on the arm for sharing that last anecdote. 

“Tell everyone what a lush I am, why don’t you?” Roger complained. 

“I heard nothing. I’m not here, remember?” you answered, holding back a laugh. “Go wherever you like, and I’ll be close behind.” Freddie nodded, but it was clear that he felt weird about leaving you out of the loop. After all, _they_ had invited _you_ along on their tour of Japan as a trial of your skills; it only seemed natural to Freddie that they include you in the fun they were having. 

“Take a break while we rest for a bit,” the vocalist suggested, walking backwards as he turned to face you. “You deserve it, after having to trek all over the country in our wake.” As sweet as his offer was, you had been waiting for an opportunity to take candid shots of the boys all morning; there would be no resting for you, especially if their rest stop was as beautiful as you anticipated it being. 

You certainly weren’t disappointed. The gardens were overflowing with native flora in every shade of green and brown, as well as the occasional Sakura tree bursting with fragrant spring blooms. A bridge spanned the width of the pond, with enough space between its bottom and the water for a small boat to pass beneath. This seemed the perfect setting for the group to relax and decompress after their busy week. As soon as they’d entered the space, the boys dispersed, finding a space that suited their interests. 

Roger balled up his jumper to use as a pillow, and settled onto a lush, grassy hill that sloped down towards the pond, intent on having an afternoon snooze. His sunglasses were perched on his freckle-smattered nose, and his t-shirt had ridden up a bit, exposing his tan belly. You crouched down in the grass and took a photo, which Roger didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he stretched his arms above his head, revealing even more skin, seemingly on purpose. 

“D’you like what you see, Y/N?” Roger inquired, smirking suggestively in your direction. 

“Yeah, the garden is beautiful,” you deflected. “I want to get some photos of the stone lanterns to show my sister. She loves that sort of thing.” Roger set his mouth in a hard line, unimpressed by your lack of interest in his body. 

“Not what I meant,” he grumbled under his breath. 

Brian’s stork legs carried him across the red wooden bridge, and he leaned over the railing to observe the white and orange fish swimming in the cool water below. Along the sides of the pond, green plants had grown, dipping into the water in some places. Innumerable pennies and other wishing coins glinted on the rocky bottom, reflecting sunlight back up to the surface; you hoped the metals weren’t bad for the fish. Some tourists just couldn’t help themselves, it seemed, as the sign requesting ‘NO COINS IN POND’ had been repeatedly ignored. 

“Y/N, do you know why Japanese bridges are often painted red?” The guitarist raised his voice, hoping you could hear him. 

“No, why?” You called back. 

“The bridge itself signifies a transition from the world of mortals into that of the afterlife,” he explained, sweeping a hand over his head in an arc. “But the red colour, which I believe was taken from a Chinese tradition of painting bridges red, signifies wisdom and the sacred. Isn’t that lovely?” 

“Perfectly lovely,” you replied. As Brian returned to his place at the centre of the bridge to watch the fish, you continued on toward the back of the garden to find good vantage points. Freddie had disappeared with the handsome translator who’d accompanied you on the outing, probably to share a cigarette; you’d seen the two of them loitering outside the hotel together a day earlier, laughing over some joke or other, and had taken a quick photo, just because the moment was so sweet. It likely wouldn’t make it into the portfolio you would present upon your return to England, but would serve as a memory of this incredible trip. 

Seeing endless opportunity for candid shots, and having found a place to shoot from that had both good lighting and a clear view of the boys, you stuck a hand into your camera bag and pulled out a zoom lens, which you swapped with the one currently attached to your camera. Because you were standing at a distance to your subjects, you required magnification to capture them clearly. Once you had attached the heavy lens, you held the viewfinder up to your eye and focused in on the lanky guitarist, whose long, bouncy curls were being gently blown by the spring breeze as he hung over the bridge railing. You felt yourself smile as you captured the image; Brian appeared to be right in his element, connecting with the natural world around him. 

“That’ll be a beautiful shot,” a soft voice spoke behind you. You lowered your camera and turned to see John, the band’s quiet bassist, observing you from atop a large decorative rock as you worked. 

“Thanks,” you said appreciatively. “He seems so peaceful and content up there, and I couldn’t help myself. The moment demands to live forever on film.” John nodded, understanding completely; on this trip especially, he had often taken the time to step back and watch his bandmates explore the exciting new scenes around them. There was no end to the beauty of this country, from its inhabitants, to the plants, to the intriguing architecture, both old and new, that made up the city of Tokyo. He’d even brought his own camera, but had chosen mostly to leave his camera behind and defer to you, the professional. 

“You’d best get one of Roger snoring before he wakes up,” John suggested, nodding his head toward the snoozing drummer. “I was going to see if I could toss some peanuts far enough to get them into his mouth, but didn’t want to ruin your shot, so I thought I’d come and check with you first.” 

“Mhmm,” you nodded, unconvinced. “I think you’re actually trying to keep out of my photos, Mr. Deacon. You know that I can’t get close-ups with this lens, so you’ve come to join me over here.” John’s expression was devoid of any emotion; he wasn’t about to lie, but nor would he confirm your suspicious. 

“In fact, out of all of the people here, the roadies included, I’ve had the most difficult time catching you unawares,” you said. “How am I supposed to present my best work when you’re not in any of it, hmm?” The corner of John’s mouth rose in an awkward half-smile, and he let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Maybe you just aren’t trying hard enough?” he suggested. 

“Well, whether it’s my fault or yours, I still need pictures of you,” you insisted. “So here’s what I’ll propose.” John tucked his hands in the pockets of his denim trousers and leaned forward, curious to hear your plan. “You pick a setting – wherever you like – and I’ll get a few shots of you there. Doesn’t have to be in front of anyone, and you won’t have to pose. Give me 10 minutes of your time, and I promise I won’t harass you into any more photos. How about that?” John’s nose crinkled as he considered your offer, and he rocked back and forth on the heels of his boots. 

“That’s all well and good, but doesn’t seem like there’s much in it for me,” he said finally, his eyes flickering to meet yours for just a moment. You thought you heard a hint of flirtation in his voice, but you couldn’t be sure. “Just sounds convenient for you, really.” 

“What more could I possibly offer you?” you asked, setting your hands on your hips teasingly. “I can’t just not take any photos of you, or I won’t get this job. You wouldn’t want me not to get a job just because you chose to be stubborn, would you?” John considered your words for a moment, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. 

“I suppose there is something you could do to convince me,” he said slowly. 

“And what might that be? 

“Well, I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth,” John began, “and I’ve been wanting to stop by this place in downtown Tokyo that sells _wagashi_, which are Japanese sweets. You know, like the ones from the tea ceremony we did a few days ago.” You nodded, waiting to see where he would go with this. 

“I’d like to go, just not by myself,” he continued, “and none of the boys will come along. So if _you_ were to come with me, then I’d probably be willing to let you take those photos you want so badly.” There was a slight wobble in John’s voice; his nerves were getting the better of him. 

“So, the two of us will go to this sweet shop, and then we’ll do your pictures?” you confirmed, holding a hand out for John to shake. “I think that sounds fair.” The bassist reached out and clasped your hand in his; his skin was warm against yours. 

“It’s a date, then,” he murmured, so quiet that you almost didn’t hear him. The word _date_, however, stood out like a sore thumb, and you felt your heart speed up in your chest. 

_John wants to take **me** out?_


	2. Wagashi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Reader go on a date to a sweet shop, and make some stops along the way. Cuteness ensues.

The challenge that was navigating the Tokyo rail system made you glad you’d grown up taking the tube in London. You were also pleased to have chosen appropriate footwear for the venture. John had traded in his platform boots for a simple pair of Adidas trainers, of which each member of the band owned at least one pair, and you had gone with a pair of comfortable walking sandals.

“So how’d you find out about this little shop?” You questioned, tilting your head toward John. He was skimming a copy of some Tokyo newspaper, which the concierge had obtained an English translated copy of for him. “Did you do some research before the trip, or hear about it by word of mouth?” 

“A friend suggested it,” John said, rolling the newspaper up and stowing it in the pocket of his shoulder bag. “Apparently they have a good selection of spring-themed _namagashi_, which are the fresh sweets, in celebration of the cherry blossoms blooming.” 

“We really made this trip at the perfect time,” you acknowledged. “All the flowers are in bloom, and the weather is just lovely.” John nodded in agreement. 

“You know, I think Japan might be my favourite place we’ve toured so far,” he said thoughtfully, settling back into his seat. “I love England, of course, and the surrounding area, but Japan really is something else. The people have been so kind to us, and there’s so much to learn.” 

“It’s certainly a trip I’ll never forget,” you said, meeting John’s gaze. His cheeks flushed pink, and he turned to look out the window, but you could see his smile reflected in the glass. 

When the station you needed to get off at was called, the two of you stood up and made for the door, and John narrowly avoided a fall directly out onto the station platform. His shoe clipped the bag of another passenger as he stepped forward, and you grabbed his arm just in time to keep him on his feet. 

“Careful there, Deacon,” you teased, rubbing his arm where you’d squeezed it. “Wouldn’t want to have to carry you back to the hotel.” John rolled his eyes, but chuckled softly. Hoping that he wouldn’t mind, you looped your arm through his, and placed a hand on his bicep; it was an affectionate gesture, but not too touchy. John glanced down at you, not caring to hide his smile this time. 

After consulting a map of the area the hotel concierge had drawn out for John, the two of you strolled down the street, chatting as you went along in search of the sweet shop. John’s curiosity was piqued when you passed a beverage cart selling something neither of you had ever heard of: ‘bubble tea’. 

“What is this, please?” he inquired of the young man behind the cart. The advertising poster on the front of the cart showed a coloured drink with round, black beads in the bottom of the cup. The seller explained that the beverage, recently invented in Taiwan, had become a sensation throughout eastern Asia. The liquid was fruit-flavoured milk tea, and the pearls in the bottom were tapioca balls, or _boba_. The concept intrigued John so much that he bought two, one for each of you. 

“I think I like this,” you said, sipping the strange drink as you and John continued along the cobbled sidewalk. “Weird, but tasty.” 

“My mother would be horrified if she could see me now,” John said, laughing to himself. He raised the pitch of his voice in a mock imitation of the woman, and shrieked, “Tea is meant to be served without milk or sugar, and adding anything else is an insult to the Queen herself!” You snorted, and laughed so hard at his terrible impression that you almost had tea coming out your nose. 

“I think you’ve missed your calling,” you told him, attempting to keep your expression serious. “You’d have been brilliant on _The Goon Show_, don’t you think?” John sighed dramatically, lamenting his lot in life at having become a famous musician instead of a comedian. 

When you turned onto a quieter street (quiet being a relative term in Tokyo), John stopped you and insisted that you stand in front of a graffiti-covered wall for a photo. He instructed you to look down the street, and hold your bubble tea so it would be visible. 

“Didn’t know you were so artsy, John,” you said, mildly surprised. “Not sure why I came along when the boys have got you. 

“Hush up and let me take your picture,” the bassist insisted. “I want to remember this.” When he was finished, he let his camera rest against his Queen-logoed sweater, where it hung on a strap similar to your own. The camera was of professional quality (he could afford it), and it appeared he knew how to use it. 

“Why do you want to remember it?” you asked, lacing your fingers through John’s in a moment of bravery. He gave your hand a squeeze, but didn’t answer your question. That would have to wait, it appeared. 

Finally, you located the sweet shop, which had a variety of confections, as John had promised. Because neither of you had much experience with the Japanese sweets, John insisted on ordering a bit of everything, to the shopkeeper’s delight. The man told you in his best fragmented English that the store had been in his family for nearly 100 years now, and that they were well-known throughout Tokyo for their sweet creations. He wrapped John’s boxes in colourful _furoshiki_ cloth, with a neat little knot to hold it together at the top; the purpose of the cloth was to make the sweets more easy to transport. 

“I’m sure these will make good gifts for the boys,” John said, attempting to justify his purchase. You nodded, agreeing firmly that his choice was a sound one. 

The shopkeeper suggested that some of the fresh sweets be eaten there in the shop, so you and John found a table at which to consume the little delicacies. Each was shaped like a flower, and was made from some sort of jelly-like substance, as well as the red azuki bean paste with which many of the confections were made. They were moist, sweet, and perfectly delicious. The moment you put the first flower in your mouth, your eyes told John that he’d made the right decision in inviting you along. 

“I don’t think we can leave Japan, now,” you told your companion. 

“D’you think we can convince that fellow to come back to London with us?” John wondered, glancing over at the shopkeeper. “Seems a good old chap.” 

Once the two of you had collected your boxes, and John had managed to weasel another photo out of you, you said your thank-yous and farewells to the shopkeeper, and headed for the second location on John’s hand-drawn map: the place he’d chosen to have you do his photos. Despite having asked him probably a dozen times about the place, John’s lips were zipped. 

It would have to be a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know bubble tea wasn't invented until the 80s, and didn't hit the rest of Asia until the 90s. Let me live.


	3. A Walk to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of John and Reader's date. Cute photo op in a park filled with cherry blossoms!

That afternoon proved to be beyond perfect; the sun was shining, the breeze was enough to keep you cool, and the air of the Shinjuku Gyoen held the sweet fragrance of a million Sakura blossoms. Everything was exactly as John had hoped for.

He led you into the large public garden, and down the main path, which was lined with tourists snapping pictures of each other under the trees. Queen’s tour to Japan had fallen right into the best season for viewing the blossoms, so nearly every tree in the park was teeming with the pale pink blooms. _What a romantic place for him to want his photos done,_ you thought to yourself. _I wouldn’t have guessed John to be so soft beneath that quiet demeanour._

“Let’s find a place that’s a bit quieter,” John suggested, taking your hand once again and gently guiding you through the throngs of park visitors. 

“This is incredible,” you told him, grinning as you took in the view. Even as busy as the park was, there was an air of peace and calm in this place. “You’ve certainly outdone yourself today, John Deacon.” 

“It’s alright, I suppose,” John replied humbly, flushing with pleasure at the knowledge that he’d impressed you. When he glanced back at you, his eyes were glittering with joy; as happy as he’d been exploring the country with his friends, it was another thing entirely to take in the wonders of the Japanese culture and landscape with you by his side. 

A few minutes later, John spotted a slim dirt path, barely visible if one hadn’t been looking for it. He tilted his head toward it in a silent request for you to follow, wherever it may go. The shrubs on either side of the path hadn’t been trimmed recently, but you managed to avoid catching the fabric of your trousers on any thorns or branches. John held a tree branch out of the way, allowing you to duck beneath it and continue on the path. As you straightened back up, you saw that the path ended in a private grove of Sakura trees, brightly lit with sunshine. 

“Just look at this,” you exclaimed, your eyes widening. John was distracted with rearranging his hair, having caught it on a twig as he had passed beneath the low-hanging branches he’d so kindly held for you, but he turned his attention now to the small clearing. 

“Would you believe I’d found this on my own?” he asked, gently sidling up beside you. 

“You did not,” you accused, teasing his gently. 

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he admitted with a rye grin. “Our translator said it was a bit of a local secret. Proposed to his wife here, apparently.” With a nervous chirp, you looked up at John; marriage certainly wasn’t on the table for you right now. He clenched his teeth and let out a chuckle, realizing how his words could be interpreted. “What I meant was, he suggested that it was a nice place where we wouldn’t be shoulder-to-shoulder with a thousand tourists. Good for a bit of privacy – for the photos, of course.” 

“Of course, of course,” you said, kicking yourself for allowing your mind to jump immediately to romance. “I knew that’s what you’d meant.” For a moment, you felt a touch of doubt creeping up on you. Perhaps this ‘date’ was a misunderstanding. John had held your hand, certainly, and seemed interested in you, but it was possible that he was like this with all the women he knew. Queen’s drummer, the blonde, doe-eyed Roger Taylor, was a well-known player, and maybe his influence had rubbed off on his fellow bandmates. 

Pushing these thoughts aside, you regarded the man beside you with a photographer’s eye. His dark hair and outfit would contrast nicely with the pink blossoms around you, and the light in the little grove would work well to bring out John’s features, so long as you positioned him in the right place relative to the sun. As much fun as you’d been having, there was an ultimate purpose to today’s outing; without photos of one of the band’s key members, there was no chance of you being selected to be their exclusive photographer for future concerts, tours and events. While John was sweet and kind, it was important for you to remember that you’d made this trip to advance your career, not for a bit of romance. 

“Now then,” you said, clearing your throat, “I’ll have you stand right over here, where the sun will light you up, but not blind you.” With a firm hand, you encouraged John to stand in the place you were indicating. He furrowed his brow at your sudden change in demeanour. 

“Everything alright, Y/N?” he murmured, meeting your eyes. 

“Yes, yes, no issues here,” you said, a bit too sharply. John’s jaw clenched up, but he chose not to press too hard, for fear of upsetting you further. 

“Would you like to do anything special with my face, or look a certain direction?” John attempted a sultry pout in jest, which you couldn’t help but smile at. He was miserable at holding any sort of unnatural facial expression, it seemed. 

“Just be yourself,” you instructed, bringing a hand up to his face. With a light touch, you grasped his chin and angled it to the left, so as to get a good view of his profile. You felt the beginnings of stubble beneath the pads of your fingers, which John clearly shaved every day to keep a clean look. A queer look came into his eyes just then, one you didn’t know how to interpret. 

“Is this how you’d like me to stand?” he asked, shifting his stance into an obviously awkward position. When you tried to correct him, he struggled to understand your redirection. “Show me,” he requested, his voice low. In that moment, you realized that he was doing this on purpose, creating a situation in which you would have to touch him to position him, as you’d done with his face. Maybe you’d interpreted things correctly the first time; he _was_ interested. 

“Aren’t you cheeky,” you observed, a smirk playing across your lips. “Stand like this, and don’t move.” You looped your index fingers through the belt loops of his denim trousers and gave them a tug, shifting his legs and hips where you wanted them to be. 

“Is my hair alright?” he questioned, giving his head a good shake, as though he were a dog jumping out of the bath. “I caught it in that tree back there, and I’d hate to see Roger looking better than me in _his_ photos.” He gave you a playful little smile, and his grey eyes twinkled mischievously as you glanced up at him. 

“He won’t,” you mumbled, lifting a hand to shift one stray bit of fringe back into place. 

“Won’t what?” John asked; his cool breath fanned against your skin. He’d stepped forward just a bit, shortening the gap between the two of you by only an inch or two. 

“Won’t look better than you,” you answered coyly, now feeling a touch of shyness. It hadn’t been your intention to flirt so shamelessly with your client, but with John, you couldn’t help yourself, it seemed. “How could he?” 

“I promise not to tell him that,” John replied with a wicked grin. He brought a hand up to your face and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “He tends to get jealous easily, that one.” His eyes flickered down to your lips, and he licked his own nervously. 

“John,” you murmured, a tone of warning in your voice. “I…I want this, but you’re my client…” 

“If you’ll let me do just one thing first, I’ll do anything you want,” John promised. “Take as many photos as you like, dress me up in pink, do my face up, whatever. Just give me this one moment.” His voice was pleading, as though he were suffering greatly because of your hesitancy. 

“Alright,” you breathed, setting your camera back against your body. John leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that made your head spin. His ‘one thing’ turned into another and another as he wrapped his arms around you. The cameras between you were quickly removed and set atop your leather shoulder bag, which you shucked off onto the ground for comfort’s sake. 

“Hope no one else…wanders down this path,” John remarked when he eventually pulled away, allowing you both to catch your breath. “Apparently public displays of affection aren’t particularly appreciated in Japan. Bit of a private thing, I hear.” 

“Maybe we could make it a private thing,” you suggested, pressing a kiss to John’s cheek. 

“Maybe you should let me take you to dinner, or the cinema, maybe,” John teased, clasping his hands behind your back and holding you loosely. “Have to be careful with boys like me, you know, Y/N. Rock stars can be rather fickle in their relationships.” 

“I don’t believe that about you for a minute,” you shot back, regarding John seriously. “I’d believe that about Roger and Freddie, and maybe even Brian. But not you.” 

“And why not?” John queried, lowering his voice and attempting his best impression of a lothario; he raised an eyebrow in mock seduction, but received nothing but a howl of laughter for his efforts. 

“John Deacon, you’ve got to be the sweetest man I’ve ever met,” you told him honestly. “Of all the things you could’ve done to get me into bed, or whatever it is you’re trying to do here, you took me to a sweet shop, and given me more flowers than any woman could ever ask for.” You indicated the grove of Sakura trees all around you; this truly was better than receiving a bouquet from the florist’s, in your opinion. “You could have had me with two G&Ts, and a bit of dancing, but you went about it this way.” 

“Of course I did,” John said, frowning as though any other man would have done the same thing. “You deserve the best, love.” You felt butterflies in your stomach for the umpteenth time that day at John’s words; he truly was a romantic. 

“As much as I’m enjoying this, we do need to get to those photos if you want to see me again,” you reminded him. “Freddie won’t let me stick around if I don’t prove myself to be a competent photographer.” John leaned in for one more quick kiss before bending down to retrieve your belongings. 

“One last thing,” he requested, bringing his camera up to his face. “Smile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote a super long chapter, so I've split it into two. Next chapter will be the last for this short fic. Thanks for reading!


	4. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Queen have returned from their time in Japan, Freddie and the gang have had time to look over Reader's portfolio. Will her work - and her relationship with John - make the cut?

**SIX WEEKS LATER**

After stacking all the photos and placing them back into the leather portfolio you’d brought them along in, Freddie clasped his hands together on his lap and glanced to either side of him, where his bandmates sat. To his left was John, who gave you a subtle wink; he was rooting for you, whether the others were or not. 

“Miss Y/L/N, would you care for a splash of tea while the fellows and I discuss your offer?” Freddie politely inquired. “Could one of you put the kettle on in the kitchen?” 

“I’ve already made my mind up,” John announced, slapping his thighs and standing up. “This way, Miss.” Placing a hand on your elbow, he guided you across the parlour and into the kitchen, out of view of his friends. Whispers and the occasional _shhhh_ were audible from across the flat as John filled the kettle with water from the tap and set it on the range. 

“What do they think, d’you think?” you hissed, stepping closer to John. Your expression was deeply concerned; Brian and Freddie had barely expressed an emotion during the entirety of the half-hour meeting. Roger, on the other hand, had pored over the photos of himself, enamoured with the way you’d managed to capture all his good angles. Brian had, on more than one occasion, elbowed him hard in an attempt to silence his praises. 

“You know, I can never tell with Brian,” John murmured, setting his hands on your hips and tugging you against him. “Roger’s a sure thing, obviously. And Freddie acted cautious, but I could tell he thought highly of both you and your work.” You leaned against the bassist, allowing him to rest his chin atop your head. Though his physique was slight, his arms held you tightly; it was a great comfort to have him with you. “It’ll be alright, whatever happens,” he promised, kissing your temple. 

“This would be a dream come true, but I’m prepared if it doesn’t turn out,” you told him. A moment later, you pulled back and looked John straight in the face, realizing that there was something you hadn’t thought to ask. “Do _you_ think my work is good enough?” 

“Absolutely, without a doubt.” There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation in John’s voice. “You’re an incredible photographer, and I think your style fits perfectly with what we’ve been searching for. Really, truly.” His words were reassuring, certainly, but better than that, you knew he meant them sincerely. John wasn’t one to lie, you had come to learn in the time you’d spent with him, even when asked difficult questions. 

“Darlings, you can come back in now,” Freddie announced, coming round the corner into the kitchen. Neither you nor John had heard his footsteps on the hardwood floors. Too shocked to pull away, you stared at the singer, mouth agape, as you watched him process the scene before him. John held you defensively, no longer caring whether or not his bandmates knew about your relationship. 

“Well…I guess I don’t have to ask for John’s vote,” Freddie said finally, a grin creeping across his face. “Come into the parlour, and let’s have a chat.” He turned on his heel and returned to the sofa, giving you and John one more moment to yourselves. 

“Shall we, then?” John asked, taking your face in his hands. “You’re brilliant, and talented, and I love you to pieces. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you nodded, angling your face up to receive one last kiss. When you stepped back, John took your hand and led you out into the parlour, where you sat down side-by-side on Freddie’s tattered floral loveseat. When Brian and Roger saw that your hand was clasped tightly in John’s, they reacted in a way you hadn’t expected. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Brian exclaimed, hanging his head in despair. If Roger had been close enough to laugh in his face, he would have; for the first time in ages, he had been right about something. 

“Hand it over,” Roger demanded, reaching out with an open palm towards the guitarist. “A deal’s a deal, May.” Grumbling under his breath, Brian pulled his money clip from his trouser pocket and selected a 10£ note, which the drummer snatched from between his fingers. After depositing the bill in his own pocket, Roger leaned forward and solicited a handshake from both yourself and John. 

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Freddie said, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “let’s get to it. Y/N, we’ve all been very impressed by the work you did during our recent tour of Japan. Your style of photography is precisely what we’ve imagined for ourselves and our brand.” He pushed a sheaf of papers across the table towards you. “This is the contract our management team have written up. Please read it over with your solicitor, and return it to us with any changes or requests by the end of the week, if you would be so kind.” You glanced quickly at the front page of the document, and saw that it was indeed a contract of employment. 

“The one condition we’d like to draw your attention to is that you’ll be required to accompany us on tour,” Brian noted, “which I now realize will probably not be an issue, seeing as you and John have…some sort of arrangement going on.” 

“Usually we’d call that a ‘relationship’, Bri,” John said, trying his best not to be snarky. You patted his knee, requesting that he contain himself for the time being. 

“Thank you so much for this opportunity,” you said appreciatively, placing the contract atop your portfolio. “I’ll have the papers back to you as soon as possible, Mr. Mercury.” You shook hands with each of Queen’s members, with the exception of John, who placed a chaste kiss on your cheek in congratulations. 

“We’ll be seeing you soon, then,” Freddie enthused, showing you to the door. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” After receiving the news that you’d be working with Queen on a regular basis, there was no way your day could possibly get any better. 

“Shall we go back to my flat for dinner to celebrate?” John asked once Freddie’s door had closed. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

* * * * * 

As you pulled one of John’s t-shirts over your head later that evening, you breathed in the scent of his cologne, and sighed a happy sigh. This day could not have gone better. John was in the washroom, brushing his teeth, so you decided to take a peak around his room. He’d been staying at yours quite frequently, but tonight, it had been decided that it was high time for him to have you over. 

His bed was made neatly, and the bedroom floor was spotless. Clothes hung in his closet neatly, or were stacked in the drawers of his dresser. Other than a large plant in the corner of the room and a guitar displayed on one wall, the room was sparsely decorated; it only made sense for a man who spent so much time on the road. One personal effect caught your eye, however – two framed photos on John’s bedside table. The first was of John and Roger, dressed up for a show; their friendship was one John cherished dearly, you knew. The second was of you, surrounded by cherry blossoms. 

“That might be my favourite photo I’ve ever taken,” John remarked, stepping into the bedroom. He looked you up and down, pleased at the sight of you in his shirt and not much else. “You look beautiful now, of course – you always do – but this image of you will stay in my memory forever,” he said fondly. “I think this was the moment I realized how hard I was falling for you.” 

“I have a nearly identical photo of you from that day that I’ve been meaning to put up at my flat,” you admitted, “but you’ve been staying over so often that I didn’t want to put it up and make you feel weird.” You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the stubbled edge of John’s jaw. “Now that I know you have this, though, I’ll put mine up so I can look at it constantly when you’re away on tour.” 

“You won’t have to, silly girl,” John reminded you, holding you close. “You’ll be with me the whole time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate your comments and thoughts on my work! This was a short little fic, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Your support means the world. <3


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